


Burning Hope

by blueboxesandtrafficcones



Series: 31 Days of Ficmas 2018 [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, attempted witch burning, brief and vague (canon) suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 00:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueboxesandtrafficcones/pseuds/blueboxesandtrafficcones
Summary: After Rose said no, the Doctor spent the next several months travelling on his own - until something convinces him to go back and ask again.  PG-13 rated for almost-violence.





	Burning Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: the Doctor’s thoughts are somewhat dark at the beginning the fic. Implied thoughts of suicide; not greatly detailed and fairly brief.
> 
> 31 Days of Ficmas, Day 2 - Hope

The TARDIS landed but he made no move towards the doors, merely staring blankly at the monitor readouts. Three months he’d been travelling alone, wandering from fixed point to fixed point, trying to feel something.

Anything.

Every stop, every event he forced himself to let play out, was draining.  Not for the first time, or even the hundredth, he wished that stupid Earth girl hadn’t interfered, hadn’t stopped him.  He was tired, tired of cleaning up messes he hadn’t caused. Tired of failing.

His treacherous TARDIS knew this, refused to let him disappear into her bowels and never emerge. She kept landing on planet after planet, forcing him out, trying to help the only way she knew how.

But the spark was gone. It had been relit, briefly, dealing with the Nestene Consciousness, but flickered out again when  _she_  refused him.

The cloister bell rang, once, and he scowled up at the time rotor.  “All right, all right.”

Trudging to the door, he flung it open to reveal a forest.  It had snowed recently, clumps of powder still decorating most branches with a crisp, clean feel to the air.  Earth, somewhere in England.  Middle Ages.

Closing the TARDIS door behind him and double checking his pocket for the sonic and psychic paper, he picked a random direction and started walking.  A path emerged, the pure white snow turning gray and slushy with previous travelers.  He saw no one, no signs of life, but a path always led somewhere and there tended to be people at the end of it.  His ship had brought him here for a reason, after all, and he would get nowhere trying to convince her to leave – she’d stay parked where she was until she deemed him ready to continue on.  He’d already wasted too many hours losing that particular argument against her.

The first hints of activity began filtering down the lane, and he unconsciously picked up speed.  It sounded like a celebration; was it Christmas? The weather was certainly right for it.

Within a mile he stumbled across the outer edges of the little village, cottages decorated with bright greens suggesting midwinter.  Children laughed, chasing each other, as adults manned wooden stands with wares and goods along the main thoroughfare.

“Welcome, visitor,” a woman called, catching his eye, and everyone around them stopped, staring at him with curiosity and only a hint of mistrust.

“Ah, hello.  Happy Christmas.”  He waved awkwardly.

“Happy Christmas,” was murmured back in unison, the spell broken when the children took up their play again.  He smiled politely at the more suspicious looks before making his way over to the friendly woman’s stand.

“Very nice,” he approved, taking in her merchandise; the table was piled high with tarts and bite-sized cakes and other delectable treats.  “May I?”

She nodded, and he dug out a coin that he hoped would be contemporary, sighing with relief when she merely pocketed it before handing him a tiny cake.  “Where do you hail from?”

“Farther norther,” he said vaguely, biting into the treat with pleasure.  “Blimey, this is good.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m the Doctor, and you are?”

“Alice,” she replied promptly, dusting her hands on her apron and turning on a charming smile. “My husband owns the inn.  Will you be needing a room?”

“No, just passing through.” He crammed the last bite into his mouth before licking his fingers, collecting every last tasty morsel.  “My compliments, though.”

A church bell rang then, eerily similar to the TARDIS’ cloister bell, making the villagers drop everything.  A strange mood, sober yet excited, took over the locals as they began to make their way down the road towards where a steeple rose out of the trees.  The children abandoned their games to run to their mothers, and a foreboding feeling took ahold of him.

“What’s going on, then?” he asked Alice, falling into step with her as she covered her goodies and stepped onto the path.  “Mass?” He hoped not, not sure how he could extricate himself from that while sticking around, then winced when she gave him a startled look.  “I mean church, of course.  Not too good with terminology, me.”  So some point after the 1560s, then- the Church of England.  Last thing he wanted was to be executed for being a Catholic, considering he wasn’t one.

“Witch burning,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder before drawing her shawl tighter around her and crossing herself.  “A witch appeared in the middle of the square yesterday afternoon, dressed like the Devil and carrying a fearsome weapon.  It took four of our strongest, bravest men to subdue her.  The reverend commanded she be burned at midday, as a sacrifice.”

“A burning?” the Doctor repeated, brow furrowing as he looked ahead.  The chapel was just coming into view around the bend, and sure enough a pyre was assembled in the courtyard, piled high with logs of firewood. “That’s different.”

“Normally it would be hanged, of course, but it is so ferocious an evil spirit Reverend Archer wishes to take no chances.  And it’s been such a cold winter, the fire will provide much needed heat.”

“Why do you say ferocious?” His instincts told him it was no ordinary ‘witch’; a lost alien, maybe?  Something requiring rescuing?

“It fought and struggled like nothing we’ve ever seen, sir.  As I said, it took our best men to subdue, making an awful, howling racket the whole night long, begging for its tools, promising to leave and never return if granted.  We refused, of course – you cannot trust the word of a demon.”

They reached the square then, and with a nod of thanks the Doctor pushed his way to the front of the crowd, palming his sonic and tensing in anticipation.  Midday was only minutes away, and he was ready to act if, or more likely  _when_ , necessary.

A few of the locals gave him odd looks, but he merely smiled politely and turned his attention to the pyre. It was a cruel way to go, burning to death, and in the back of his mind, the ever-present screaming as Gallifrey-

“It is time to put the witch to death,” the town crier called, and the crowd parted across the pyre from the Doctor to let the procession through, moving deliberately to give the villagers the best chance of a view of the so-called witch.  “In the name of our King, James the First of that name, we sentence this creature to be burned at the stake.  We offer this sacrifice to humbly beseech our Creator to protect us, granting us health and safety if He so chooses.”

The Doctor could sense something in the air now, a strange crackling signifying shifting timelines that only he could feel.  The strength of the premonition, the overwhelming feeling of wrongness, was so surprising, so unexpected he missed the rest of the speech, watching without seeing as the ‘witch’ was secured to the stake.  He came to again as the torch was lit, the village leader giving his own monologue before he would set the poor creature on fire.  Looking up the Doctor was startled to find a humanoid figure not of the time period, judging by the purple leather jacket, black trousers, and peroxide-blonde hair.

The woman’s hands were bound behind her back, a gag muffling almost all of her shouts and obscuring half her face.  She continued to struggle against her bindings, her tenacity impressing him.  He met her eyes then, and to his surprise he could see a maelstrom of emotions there – shock.  Fear.  Relief. Recognition.  Confusion.

Whiskey eyes stared back at him as she fell silent and still, and the leader stepped onto the dais next to her, keeping the torch and his body well away as he leaned over and yanked the rag out of her mouth and down around her neck.  “Have you any final words, whore of Satan?”

Her face was exposed, and the Doctor’s world stopped spinning.

The nagging feeling of wrongness made sense then, as did the TARDIS’ insistence.  Their ‘demon’ was no witch at all, but rather a time traveler. An extraordinary yet perfectly ordinary teenager girl from London.  Well, London of four hundred years in the future.

It was Rose Tyler.

“What are you  _doing_ here?” he croaked, stepping forward without thinking. Shock clouded his mind, as he tried to comprehend how she could have gotten here.  Certainly not via the TARDIS; Alice had said she’d arrived the previous day.

“Me?  What are  _you_  doing here?” she shot back, now surprisingly unperturbed at her current circumstances.  “Are you here alone?”  It was an odd question, and he opened his mouth to tell her so, to demand answers, when he was beaten to the punch.

“What is the meaning of this?”

They both turned to stare at the village leader, the Doctor blinking in surprise as the very real danger she faced coalesced in the burning torch.  “Uh…”  Fumbling in his pockets as he leapt up onto the dais as well, he produced the psychic paper and flashed it in front of the man, never taking his eyes off  _her_.  Rose.  “Here’s my credentials.”

“Oh!”  He whipped off his hat, handing the torch off to a lackey as he bowed.  “Witchfinder General!  I’m terribly sorry, sir, I was not aware you were to join us.  Um, do you know this… creature?”

“My assistant,” the Doctor blurted, raising an eyebrow at Rose, who nodded.  “She’s… she’s with me.”

“But… she’s a witch,” he protested weakly.

“Listen, mate, I was undercover,” Rose said with remarkable patience, gritting her teeth but remaining calm.  “I tried to tell you, but you refused to listen.”

“I… I thought…”

“Get her down.”  The Doctor’s tone brooked no argument, hearts pounding.  As long as she remained tied to the stake he wouldn’t be able to concentrate, the timelines screaming at him to  _save this girl_.  She would not die on his watch.  “Now. Then we can talk.”

The would-be executioners leapt to, and soon Rose was at his side, his body between hers and the pyre. She rubbed at her wrists where the ropes had surely dug into her skin, trembling only slightly, but otherwise remained astonishingly poised.  Impulse had him putting his arm around her shoulders, and her tension instantly melted away as she snuggled into his embrace, sagging against him.

“This way, sir.”

The village leader led them into the church, the reverend hot on his heels, both watching carefully as Rose stepped foot over the threshold into the chapel proper.

“Now, if I was really a demon, I wouldn’t be able to do that, would I?” she remarked dryly, arching her eyebrow in the locals’ direction.  “Couldn’t enter holy ground, yeah?”

“Nope,” the Doctor snapped off cheerily as they settled onto pews in the middle of the church, the locals in front of them and forced to turn to look at them.  He wanted them uncomfortable.  “Now, tell me what’s going on, start at the beginning.”

“She appeared in the square in a flash of brilliant purple light yesterday afternoon,” the reverend sniveled, wringing his hands.  Roughly thirty with a round belly and pasty complexion, he was a caricature of the stereotypical man who became a pastor because he couldn’t find a willing wife. “What were we to think?”

“Parlor tricks,” the Doctor said firmly, even as he privately wondered how she’d done it. Vortex manipulator?  Teleport?  “If you want to successfully and accurately weed out witches, you must become one with them.”

“And what did you find, miss?” the leader cut in.  Forties, he was weedy, with dark eyes and hair, a cruel look about him, fitting with his willingness to murder a stranger is such a terrible way without any consideration or due process.

“Well, Mister Hayward, I didn’t exactly have much time to find anything, did I?  Considering I was immediately arrested and sentenced to death.” Rose met his gaze coolly, holding it until the older man flinched.

“But child, why didn’t you say something?” Reverend Archer implored, and she let out a distinctly unladylike snort before arranging her features in a trying-for-demure grimace that made the Doctor cough to hide a laugh.  He’d clearly underestimated her fiery spirit.

“My Lord forbid me from revealing my purpose under any circumstances,” she bit out, smiling sweetly.  “I could not disobey.”

“You are a Lord, sir?” Hayward asked, eyes lighting with interest and greed.  “Truly?  What is the name of your estate, if I may be so bold?”

“Time,” Rose said promptly, and the Doctor struggled not to react; he hadn’t told her that.  The Consciousness had mentioned it, but why would she remember that?  “He is the Lord of Time.”

“And you?”

A slow, dangerous smile spread over her face, and for the first time the Doctor realized that she was not the same woman he had left in the alley three months before.  She had an aura of confidence, of self-worth and experience she hadn’t had when they’d met.  What had happened to her?  “Me? I’m the Big Bad Wolf, mate.  I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down.”

As the locals cast her nervous looks, the Doctor decided it was a good time to redirect the conversation before they  _both_  ended up on the pyre. He could probably get them out of that, but didn’t want to waste the time on the risk.  “My companion’s things?  I trust nothing will be missing.”

“Yes, sir, of course, sir,” Hayward jumped to his feet, bowing slightly.  “I’ll fetch them right away, sir.”

The reverend took one look at each of them before standing as well.  “I’ll help!”  He scurried after the leader’s retreating back, leaving the Doctor alone with her for the first time.

“Rose?  What are you-”

She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and burrowing her face into his chest as she began to shake.  He slowly brought his arms around her back, holding her tighter as hot tears began to soak through his jumper.

“Shhh, you’re okay,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her crown.  “You’re safe now, I won’t let anything happen to you.  I promise.”

After only a few minutes her tears slowed, but she made no move to let go.  “I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispered.  “I missed you so much.”

“Rose…”  He leaned back far enough to see her face, studying her carefully.  He hadn’t seen the difference at first glance, but this close she was obviously older, a weariness in her eye he recognized from companions who had just had another close call.  Whatever was going on, she wasn’t new to this life, wasn’t lost in the reality of being in a different time period.  “How?”

“When are you in your timeline?” she asked instead, and the phrasing just showed how familiar she was not only with time travel, but with meeting other travelers out of order.

“We met roughly three months ago, for me.  You said no. How are you  _here_?”

It was Rose’s turn to pull back, and she groaned slightly.  “I’m not sure I can say.  Timelines.”

“Try.”

She bit her lip, staring blankly over his shoulder for a moment before meeting his eye again. “Sorry, ‘s just a bit overwhelming, making concentrating difficult.”

“Near death experiences tend to do that.”

“I meant seeing you. Specifically, this you.”

His eyebrows shot up at that, hearing what she wasn’t saying.  “You know another me?”

“Yep.”  She popped the ‘p’, smirking momentarily.  “So, Cliff Notes version, you came back like ten seconds after you left, and I traveled with you – this you – for about a year. Stuff happened, you regenerated, and we were together another two years.  We, um, got separated, and it’s too complicated to explain and you shouldn’t know anyway, but you couldn’t just… come get me.  So now I’m trying to get home to you.”

“But not this me.” The Doctor decided to ignore the other curious comments, focusing instead on the timeline-important parts of her story.  He was itching to ask questions, to know just why she’d phrased things the way she had, but reigned in his impulses.  Timelines were fragile, and he didn’t want to risk knowing more than he should.

“Would that I could,” Rose sighed, brushing her fingertips over his jaw.  “Missed this face too.  But your fate’s set, I’m afraid.”

“You said I came back?”

She nodded, letting her hand fall to her lap.  “Course, you never mentioned you were gone for  _three months_.”

“Why?  Why’d you change your mind, I mean?”  His excellent hearing could pick up footsteps approaching the church, but he needed to know.

“I didn’t – I just needed you to ask a second time.  It’s a long story, involving deadbeat boyfriends.  You’ll hear it eventually.”

“Uh, sir?”  It was Hayward’s assistant, and oldest son by the looks of him.  “I have the lady’s possessions.”

He dumped the armful of items on the pew, and made to flee.

“Wait,” Rose commanded, sorting through her things quickly.  “I had a billfold – just like the Doctor’s credentials.  Where is it?”

“Erm…”  The youth shuffled his feet, glancing nervously behind him.  “I think…”

“You’d best find it,” the Doctor grinned.  “She’s not a lady you want to make mad.  Go on.”

The boy scampered, and Rose huffed.  “Honestly.”

“Everything else there?”

She nodded, inserting an earpiece and tapping a button on a high-tech wristband.  It resembled a Vortex Manipulator, but not quite. “Micks?”  Rose flinched, and he could hear the shouting from where he was seated a foot away.  “Hi, Mum. I’m fine.  Yes.   _Yes_.  Just a misunderstanding.  Sort of. It means sort of.  Soon, I think.  I’ll radio in.  Don’t you _dare_.”  She jammed a button again, rolling her eyes.  “I was only meant to be here twenty minutes if you weren’t, and it’s been a full day.  Mum worries, after that year- well, never mind.  I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”

Disappointed but not surprised, he nodded.  “D’you need any help?”

Rose shook her head. “Just the psychic paper back – that usually saves my neck.  I wonder, though… did it not work so you’d come rescue me, or did you come because the TARDIS knew it wouldn’t work?”

“Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” the Doctor retorted, earning a laugh.  “No way of knowing.  Sure there’s nothing?”

She bit her lip, glancing around the chapel for a moment before pulling a mobile out of her pocket sheepishly.  “D’you mind a picture?”

“C’mere.”  He took the device from her, and they snuggled up in the pew.  “Say ‘TARDIS’.”

“TARDIS!” she crowed, laughing, as he snapped the shot, and a few more for safety’s sake.  “Thanks.”

“Here, miss.”  Hayward Junior reappeared, practically throwing the psychic paper at her before fleeing as they watched in amusement.

“Better go before they try to burn me again,” Rose teased, putting her things back into her pockets; given the size of the pile, he realized at some point he must have made her pockets trans-dimensional.

“I’ll walk you out.”

They found a back door, and once outside Rose threw herself into his arms, holding him tight. “Goodbye.  For now, at least.”

“Goodbye,” the Doctor repeated gently, squeezing her.  “Though, I suppose it’s not for me, is it?”

“Nope!”  She pulled away, wiping at her eyes.  “Right, time to go before I- well, don’t.”  She reached for the communication button on her wristlet, finger hovering over it.  “Oh! You forgot to tell me something.”

“What’s that?” Despite barely knowing her, his hearts were breaking in his chest to see her leave, but he set his jaw against any stray tears or other displays of emotion.

“That it travels in time.” Rose hit the button, giving him a wide, tongue-touched grin.  “I’ll see you when I see you.  And I  _will_ see you.”

She vanished in a purple bolt of energy in front of his very eyes, and as soon as she was gone the details of the afternoon began to fade.   _Travels in time_ , he began to repeat to himself, a sudden, overwhelming urge he couldn’t fight telling him to head for the TARDIS.   _It also travels in time_.  It was a message he had to pass on, but to who, and from whom, was growing foggier by the second.

He began to run.


End file.
